The Turn of the Earth
by carlycarter
Summary: Story written by Kathryn0505 & CarlyCarter. 'An encounter with a mysterious artifact leads to devastating consequences for Pete and Myka...'
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Written by myself and kathryn0505 (You should all check out Kathryn0505's stories if you haven't already!)_

_AN 2: This is a twisted and dark story, if that's not your thing then don't feel obliged to read._

_AN 3: We love Myka. We love Pete. If you stick with the story til the end you'll see that. Not meant to cause any offence to characters or their fans. Just a tale we came up with and felt had to be told. It isn't a happy story, it isn't nice. So you have been warned. That being said, we had a great time writing this together, and we are happy-ish with how it turned out, so we hope someone out there might enjoy it._

_AN4: The timeline jumps a lot, we hope it works, and isn't too confusing :) _

_AN 5: Contains adult themes, violence, sexual assault _

Chapter 1. 

She leans her head against the window of the aircraft. She longs to close her eyes, desperately. To surrender to the respite of darkness. But she can't quite bring herself to do it. She needs to be vigilant. Neither can she stand to look at him. So she casts her eyes downwards to the book she is trying to hold steady in her hands, and makes a pretence of being utterly engrossed in reading.

If Pete were the sort of man that paid the slightest bit of attention to anything, it might have given him cause to wonder what was so fascinating on that single solitary page to captivate her attention for hours. She has been starring at it since take off. Somehow, it seems important to stay perfectly still. Even moving a finger to turn the page would dispel the peace she is trying so desperately to cloak herself in. Somehow, that's how she will remain calm, controlled. So she reads the same page, over and over. Yet she can't recall a single word. The words just won't sink in. It frightens her. More than a little. Words, stories, have always been her comfort, her escape. Now there is no escape. No respite from the things turning over and over in her mind. No escape from reality.

_No escape._ She feels trapped. She has never been prone to claustrophobia, but it strikes her suddenly how small the space is. She can't move. She can't breathe. There is nowhere to run. Time has stopped, she is sure of it. This flight will never end. She really really can't breathe. She is certain she will die right there in her seat.

And yet, she doesn't.

She keeps breathing, though every breath makes her chest ache just a little more. She has to be quiet. She has to be still. As if nothing is out of the ordinary. It's all she has to do, the one and only thing, and it really shouldn't be all this difficult. It will be over soon. She glances at her watch. Not even a minute has gone by since the last time she checked.

She isn't certain why the slowing of time bothers her. She has somehow deluded herself into thinking that once the plane has landed, once they are home, it will become a little easier to breathe. The passing seconds wont cause her such agony as they grate against her. And _he_ won't be sitting so agonisingly close to her. She will have space. She will breathe. She will be ok.

Everything will be back to normal once they get off this god- damn- plane.

That's all she has to do, hold it together until then.

It's not- so- bloody- difficult.

_Just keep breathing._

She surrenders and closes her eyes. A sickening wave of nausea washes over her.

Pete doesn't look at her oddly when she excuses herself, climbing over the top of him, to go to the bathroom. He is engrossed in the movie, and makes a pretence of being annoyed that she is interrupting his viewing. She keeps her eyes to the ground. And she tries, in vain, not to touch him as she brushes past in the incredibly confined space. A stab of horror rushes through her when she realises she will have to walk right past him again on the way back to her seat.

It had been a relief to her the moment she realised he remembered absolutely nothing about the things that happened. She doesn't want him to have to live with it. And more to the point, it's so much easier to pretend it never happened if it's her secret and hers alone. She is more than happy to own it. To sweep it so far under the rug as if it never happened.

She repeats that to herself, through gritted teeth, as she splashes cold water on her face. _It- never- happened._

But even though she would never, ever wish for him to remember, there is something about seeing him so unaffected that causes her to shudder. He is unchanged, just the same person he has always been. And she is irrevocably changed. It makes her feel out of control. Out of touch. As if his reality and hers are totally incompatible from this point. She wonders if it will always be that way between them?

There is something in the way he is sitting there, watching movies as if he hadn't a care in the world, that stirs an bitter resentment in her. And underneath her own regrets and guilt and shame, deep underneath, she is angry at him.

It wasn't his fault-

_But how could he?_

He doesn't remember-

_But how could he not?_

He can never know what happened-

_It never happened. Nothing happened. _

She reminds herself of this. Over and over. She can't tell if it's working.

A tiny little part of her feels cheated out of her righteous anger. Part of her wants to scream at him and hurl vicious accusations at him and demand to know how the hell he could have let this happen. Part of her wants to see it tormenting him, too. Why should she suffer alone? She wants to know if he feels guilty, she wants to know if he is sorry, wants to know if he understands even a little bit how profoundly he has hurt her. But then there is that part of her that knows she is equally to blame. She should have stopped him. She should have tried harder.

She has to forget it, push it all aside, let it go. She she can never let him see how much this is eating her alive. She can never let anyone see.

She is violently ill. And afterwards, she feels a little better. She manages to compose herself, to return to her seat. Even manages to tease him about the children's movie he is enjoying so thoroughly.

It's minutes after she has returned to her spot, picked up her book again, staring at that same page, that he turns and asks her if she is ok.

She tells him she is fine. She even smiles.

He smiles back at her playfully, telling her she really looks pale. And teasing her about the amount of alcohol she consumed the night before.

She had been drinking the previous night. But no where near _enough._ Oh how she wishes there was enough alcohol in all the world to erase the past week from her mind.

She says nothing to him, only scowls silently, and returns her attention to her book.

She can feel his eyes upon her. It makes her heart race. But she doesn't move, she doesn't speak.

He won't let it go. He tells her she really doesn't look well.

She snaps at him then, telling him she has a headache and ordering him to shut up and stop bugging her, because he is making it worse.

He is making _everything_ so much worse. And he really doesn't mean to.

He fumbles in his pocket, then extends his hand towards her, offering two aspirin. She wants to tell him where to stick his aspirin. She wants to tell him to take a flying leap out the window. But she takes a breath. Forces herself to calm down. Everything is fine. Act normally. If believes her story that she isn't feeling well, he will probably leave her alone the rest of the way home. All she has to do is take the damn aspirin from him, thank him, and close her eyes pretending to be asleep. And so that is what she does.

He turns his attention back to the pathetic movie. She discards her book and any pretence of reading, and fixes her gaze out the window. She wonders, as she watches the world pass her by, just what it would feel like to fall from this high up? She wonders if it would hurt? Or would she be unconscious before she hit the ground?

But then she knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that nothing could hurt worse than sitting here beside Pete, as he sits blissfully unaware of everything happening inside of her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2. **_

Myka stumbles on unsteady legs into her bathroom before turning to slam the door shut behind her. She falls back into it, leaning with almost all of her weight before sliding down its length to the cold tile of the floor.

She stares ahead of her, an empty, glassy gaze indicative of her shock.

How could that have happened? It can't be possible.

It hardly seems possible, but she knows by the ache in every part of her body that it had not been just some horrible nightmare. Pete had really-

No. She's not even going to think about it.

She thinks about what steps she is supposed to take in this situation. Most people are taken to the hospital after such an event. But what would be the point? She knows who attacked her. Except for the dull ache of her head and the throbbing between her legs, she knows she hasn't been seriously hurt. And what would they do for those injuries at the hospital? They would give her a painkiller and tell her to give her body time to heal on its own.

She also takes a moment to think about the other potential consequences to going to the hospital; within a few hours, Artie would know the entire story, and she doesn't want this to ever be known by anyone else. It will be bad enough as their secret, but she cannot stand anyone else knowing. How would they look at her if they knew?

Myka weakly stands and makes her way over to the shower, tugging at her clothes until she successfully pulls them off. She turns on the shower and waits a moment before she steps into the scalding spray. She is only briefly disturbed to see the pinkish tint of the water as it flows down her legs and swirls around the drain.

She washes her hair as gently as possible, careful to avoid the large bump on her head. She scrubs her body until her skin is a bright red shade. She finishes as quickly as possible, and reaches out of the shower to grab the fluffy hotel towel. She wraps it tightly around herself as she steps out, being careful not to slip.

She gets dressed and collapses onto her bed. She wishes she had a painkiller. She would be lying if she said it did not still hurt. But she then briefly wonders if any drugs would be good for her head injury. She could have a concussion. She should not sleep.

She doesn't care.

She lays face up on the bed, staring blankly above her. She is oblivious as a single tear escapes her eye, travelling across her skin to her hairline. It is lost in the wet curls before she is even aware of its presence.

The pounding in her head gets worse, and she sees darkness swim at the edge of her vision.

The darkness comes for her, and she welcomes it as it takes her.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3. **_

For Myka, cleaning had always been relaxing. It was something she did when she was feeling nervous, upset, angry, or whatever other negative emotion that she was trying to suppress. This habit had not changed as she grew older, and she in fact grew to like it as her worrying tendencies meant that her home was clean most of the time.

Since she has come back to the warehouse with Pete, the Bed and Breakfast has been spotless.

She's not sure anyone has noticed her even more obsessive-compulsive habits. Pete made a joke in passing about her being a clean freak, but there had been no underlying concern or question.

It honestly angers her a bit. She doesn't want him to know, but she also doesn't want him to have it so easy that he doesn't suffer at all. After all, she hurts every time she looks at him, and he gets to make jokes and laugh.

It isn't fair. But at the same time, it's what she wants. Pete doesn't ever get to know, and no one else will ever have to hear the secret that she refuses to tell.

Except for Leena. Myka is fairly certain that Leena knows, even if she doesn't know all the details. She has seen Leena's sideways glances and looks of sadness, even now as she stands beside her.

"Do you need any help?" Pete asks, coming up to Myka's side where she is washing dishes.

"No, I've got it," she replies. She wishes she could tease him about never helping and his sudden desire to lend her a hand, but he is standing too close to her and her mouth goes dry.

"Okay, I'm heading upstairs then," he easily replies. "Night, ladies." He brushes a hand lightly on her shoulder as he walks by, and it takes every ounce of willpower in her body to not shudder or recoil away from his touch.

He leaves the room, and she pauses for a moment to gather her senses. She must stop for longer than normal, because Leena is at her side seemingly in the next moment.

"Myka?" There is such concern in her voice, but it is also hidden under her calm exterior.

"I'm fine," Myka automatically replies. It is a response borne of years of suppression and loneliness, and the words are out of her mouth before she even realizes what has happened.

She likes to think she would have sounded convincing, but she makes the mistake of looking at Leena as she speaks and her voice catches. A tear falls from her eye, and she hadn't even realized that she had started to cry.

She turns back to wash the dishes, but Leena remains at her side. "Myka, I know."

Myka had thought so, but some part of her desperately wanted to keep it buried.

She shakes her head. "Nothing happened," she tells her.

"Myka, I can see it in your aura. I can see it just by looking at you now."

She continues to shake her head, and after a moment she realizes that she's shaking so hard that it's almost painful.

"Stop that. Here, let me take that," Leena soothes, taking the wet dish from her hand. She grabs a towel and dries Myka's hands. Myka stands there in almost silence, but a sob escapes her before she can stop it. She's crying openly, and all she can do is stand there like a child as Leena takes her hands and leads her to the next room over, closing the door behind them.

"Myka, you have to talk about it," Leena tells her, leading her over to the couch before sitting down next to her. She keeps a hand on her back, rubbing up and down as Myka tries to catch her breath.

How can anyone cry so hard? She feels like she can't breathe. She feels like she's drowning in her own tears, and for a long moment she can't bring herself to care.

"Myka, come on, breathe. Shh, calm down," Leena tries to tell her, moving her hand up and down her back in as comforting a gesture as she can manage.

After a few moments, "He doesn't remember."

"But you do. And you can't ignore it. It still happened to you, even if it was Pete, even if it was because of an artifact. This is something you have to deal with. Ignoring it is not dealing with it."

"I don't know how," Myka cries.

"He needs to know," Leena answers.

"How can I tell him? Why should I? Isn't it bad enough that one of us remembers? What will he think once I tell him? Why should he have to go through that too?" she argues. She's almost becoming hysterical again, but it's been too long with this secret eating at her every moment of the day.

"Because you're hiding. And to truly deal, you have to deal with this together, because it was both of you there, not just you. You'll never be able to look at him until he deals with this too."

"I don't know if I can," Myka continues to cry. "Everything will change."

"Things have changed," Leena replies, placing an arm around her. "Now it's time to acknowledge that and begin to move forward."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4 **_

"Close call." He says, smiling triumphantly.

"Too close." She reprimands him angrily, punctuating her sentence by smacking him on the arm. "You should have listened to me Pete, and waited for the..."

"Relax." He cuts her off. "Just chill out for one second. We got the artifact. Job well done. Can't you just leave it at that?"

"That thing...almost..." Her voice trails off. The anger vanishes from her eyes, and in it's place a troubled, almost child-like expression. Something like fear mingled with sadness. She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to.

He sees the thing in her eyes. Every now and then he sees it- that haunted vulnerability. It troubles him, that glimpse into her deepest darkest place. The intensity of it makes him uncomfortable. He wants to drive the sadness from her. Wants things back to the normal light hearted way they always interacted with one another. He wants to see her smile. Because, she lights up the room when she smiles. Though he would never tell her so.

For a moment she regrets losing her composure, certain he is about to tease her in some way and tell her to lighten up and get over it. But instead he places his hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes and telling her sincerely. "Nothing bad happened. We're ok. Ok?"

"It touched you." Myka tells him, shaking her head trying to dispel the image in her mind. "For a minute I thought..."

"I know." He acknowledges, looking away from her. There had been a moment he thought he was a goner too. "But everything turned out fine. We got the artifact. Happy ending. And we still have all afternoon to enjoy ourselves in sunny Hawaii!" He smiles at her enticingly.

"We should head back. Artie said as soon as we had the artifact we should come straight back to the Warehouse." Myka reminds him.

He looks at her quizzically, "Come on Myka. You're not serious." He protests, wondering how anyone could be thinking about Artie or the Warehouse when they had a whole free day and night in tropical paradise.

"Artie was very clear with his instructions. Get the artifact, and come straight home." It really was that simple in her mind.

"Oh man, you _are_ serious." Pete sighs. "Come on Myka, We're here in Hawaii . Artie won't know the difference. We never get any vacation time. Ever. What's one more night? We'll fly straight home in the morning. Just one night. Please ? What's the harm?"

Thing is, it was impossible to resist that pleading look on his face, impossible to resist him. And she had caught his glance a moment ago, hated the way he looked at her as if she didn't know the meaning of the word 'fun'. So she plasters a smile on her face and agrees with him. "One night." She concedes finally. After all, _what's the harm? _


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5 **_

Myka thought it would be good to get out of the house and on the road. With no one's prying eyes upon her. Away from Leena and her knowing sympathetic glances, her constant unspoken urging to tell Pete about what happened. It's not that Myka didn't agree with Leena on some level. It's just that telling Pete was not an option. For oh so many reasons.

She spoke the truth when she told Leena that she didn't want Pete to have to live with it. But it was only part of the truth. It wasn't just Pete she wanted to protect, she couldn't live with it herself- seeing it in his eyes would destroy her.

And even more than those two things combined, and her desire to pretend it never happened, is this- the nagging little voice in her own head asking the question- '_Why didn't you fight back, Myka?' _

It's not like she is a helpless female incapable of defending herself. Why hadn't she tried harder to stop it? Would Pete even believe her if she tried to explain what happened? If she is very honest with herself, and she would never admit this to him, she had thought about it. Her and Pete. Once or twice. Perhaps she had even wanted it. Perhaps she led him on subconsciously. It wasn't his fault- he was under the influence of an artifact. He doesn't even remember it. She was the one in control. She was the one that let it happen. She is the one to blame.

And so, telling him is just not an option.

Besides, it's not like there was a need to tell him. It's not like he had even noticed her odd behaviour. She felt like there was an insurmountable barrier between them. Like something had been shattered and could never be restored. She grieved over it, grieved over losing what they had. And he, well he hadn't even noticed a thing. Leena was the only one who picked up on anything amiss. The others were oblivious. Why should they notice anyway? They didn't notice when she was trapped in the looking glass and an imposter took her place. She is that insignificant to them. She is someone who has always blended into the back ground, someone who never really mattered. And for the first time in her life, she is grateful for it.

It's her problem, her nightmare, her fault, and she will deal with it alone.

"We should take separate cars." She suggests to him before they leave

"What the hell for?" He asks her.

She shrugs. She has no answer. She can't very well tell him that the prospect of sitting next to him in a car, alone, for hours on end makes her sick to her stomach. So she says nothing. She doesn't even make a protest when he snatches the keys and announces he is driving the entire way.

Her heart is racing as she sits beside him in the car. It's not like she is afraid of him. It's not like she thinks he is going to attack her right there in the car. _This is Pete_, she tells herself, _he would never hurt me_. And yet he had hurt her. Hurt her all the more because it was Pete, someone she trusted, someone she loved. That's the thing that tore her in two. Pete was the one person in the world she trusted implicitly. And trust had never come easy for her. If it had been some stranger it would have been easier to live with. Someone she could hate, someone she never had to see again. Let alone spend hours in a car sitting right next to him.

She wants to trust him, wants to feel safe. But she can't. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been sleeping with the chair wedged against the bedroom door since they had returned to the warehouse. She'd be lying if she claimed to have slept at all, actually. But she tells herself she isn't really afraid it will happen again.

She feels, above all, an overwhelming sadness that she has lost him as her friend, her confidant, her rock. Lost her trust in him, lost their connection. He was the one person she felt looked at her and knew her. No matter how hard she tried to keep the walls built high, walls she had erected in childhood to protect herself, he had knocked them all down effortlessly that first day at the warehouse. He looked at her, he knew her, he trusted her and valued her implicitly for no reason what so ever. It was the most precious thing she had ever possessed- his friendship.

The funny thing is, as much as she feels like she has lost him already, she really can't bring herself to walk away from him. Leena had been right- things had already changed. There was nothing Myka could do to turn back the clock. Perhaps a different person might walk away forever, from him, the warehouse, the horrible memory of that night and the shattered remnants of their broken trust. But it does not occur to her. This is her torment and she will live with it. In silence.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

She is abruptly jolted from her sleep in a state of disorientation. Hours have gone by. Darkness has descended around her. She can't believe she had fallen asleep, in the car, in broad daylight, just inches from him, and quite some hours ago.

She looks to Pete. For a moment she is self conscious that he has been watching her sleep. But his attention is focused on the road in front of him. She can't be certain, but it seems that the car is no longer moving.

She isn't certain her heart is beating anymore, either.

Pete is smiling mischievously in the moonlight as he runs his fingers through his hair, turning to face her. There is nothing aggressive in his manner. He is the same easy going Pete, smiling at her as he always has. But she backs away from him a little. As much as possible while sitting right next to him in the car. She can't help it, it's instinctive. She takes a deep breath. He isn't doing anything, not the slightest thing, to provoke the apprehension rising in her.

"What are you doing?" She asks him, trying to hide the alarm in her tone.

She had asked him the exact same question that night- _'Pete, What are you doing?'_. Calmly at first. Slightly amused. Before she fully realised what was happening. Before she had screamed at him desperately _'Pete, what the hell are you doing!_' But by then, she already knew the answer.

"There might be a little problem with the car." His voice brings her back into the present.

"What kind of problem?" She asks him absent-mindedly. She doesn't really care about the car. It's the way he is looking at her that troubles her. She tries to remember how he had looked at her that night. Tries to remember the first moment she realised what was about to happen. She wonders if she should have seen it coming.

"We might have run out of gas." He admits sheepishly.

"Might have?"

"Definitely have." He clarifies.

She unbuckles her seat belt, anxious to get away from him. She slams the door as she gets out of the car, though she doesn't really mean to. She opens the trunk and tells herself she shouldn't be surprised to find that he doesn't carry a spare can of gas.

"You don't keep any spare?" She demands as he approaches her from behind.

"What for?" He wants to know.

"For times just like this!" She tells him. If she had anything in her hands, she would have thrown it at him. She settles for slamming the lid of the trunk as hard as she possibly can. The ground beneath them shakes a little as she does so, and Pete jumps in surprise.

"Hey, settle down." He tells her. "It's not the end of the world."

Anger is boiling inside of her, and it's nothing to do with gas. "Is it too much to ask you to fill the damn car with gas?"

"Said I was sorry." He pleads.

"Actually, Pete, you didn't." She tells him bitterly. And once again, she isn't thinking about the car.

"Well, I am very sorry." There is sincerity in his tone. Warmth. And it's a little undeserved given the way she is attacking him.

She wonders how sorry he would be if he remembered the things he had done to her. Wonders what she would see in his eyes. She wonders if it would make a difference. If it would take away the insidious darkness eating away at her.

She has to turn away from him, mumbling under her breath "I told you we should have taken two cars."

"Oh that would have been perfect." He replies, voice dripping with sarcasm, "You would have fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed on the roadside. I might not be perfect, but at least I'm awake."

He isn't really serious. He is teasing her, they way he always has. And only because she started picking on him first. The thing is, he has a point. She hasn't slept properly in weeks. She is exhausted, distracted. Her mind isn't on the job. He deserves better.

She doesn't respond to his comments. She surveys her surroundings. They have seemingly ended up in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but eerie darkness in all directions. Not a hint of civilisation in sight. "Where the hell are we?"

"You'd know the answer to that if you bothered to keep your eyes open." He responds. She takes that to mean that he doesn't actually have a clue where they are.

As her eyes adjust to the moonlit night, she can make out the dim shadow of trees in the distance, the outline of the road ahead of her. The wide open space feels even more oppressive to her than the confines of the car. They are in the middle of nowhere. Another world. Just her and him. She can not stay here. She won't run. She has too much dignity for that. But she turns, silently, and begins walking along the roadside as rain starts falling lightly around her.

It takes him a moment to realise she is gone, as he is fishing around in the car looking for the farnsworth. He runs to catch up with her, and when he is by her side he asks her. "Where are you going?"

"To get some gas." She answers him through gritted teeth, quickening her pace. If she cloaks herself in anger, then he won't be able to see her fear. And he would surely see nothing out of the ordinary about her being annoyed at him. It happens all the time. Or it used to.

"There isn't a gas station for miles, and it's raining." He protests.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that sooner." She responds. Truthfully, she hadn't noticed the rain until he pointed it out. And it makes little difference to her.

"We'll just call Artie and sit back and wait..."

It's not that his suggestion isn't sensible. It's just that there is no way in hell she is staying in this place with him, for god knows how long. No way in hell.

"Tell you what, Pete, You sit and wait, and I'll go get some gas." She folds her arms defiantly, refusing to stop.

"What has gotten into you? It's really not that big of a deal."

"Of course it isn't. Nothing is a big deal to you. Nothing matters to you. No one matters." She hurls the bitter accusations at him without stopping, without turning to look at him. She is grateful for the rain falling around them, hoping that he can't see the tears falling down her face.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He wants to know. There is genuine curiosity in his tone. He reaches for her, placing his hand on her shoulder gently, and she angrily pushes him away.

He is so stunned that it causes him to stop for a moment. He watches her walking away, bewildered.

"Myka." He calls her name. "Stop. Please."

But she won't stop. She can't.

"Myka!" He calls louder, not angrily, but urgently. It causes her to shudder. She hears his voice in her head from that night. Pete's voice. Pete's eyes. Pete's hands.

The rain is falling harder around them. He has almost lost sight of her up ahead. He sprints to catch up with her once again, saturated and breathless by the time he arrives at her side. He reaches for her wrist, grabbing her forcefully. He only wants her to stop for a minute. To calm down. To look him in the eyes and tell him what is really bugging her.

She shoves him violently, and he almost loses his footing on the muddy ground. And when he looks up, he notices that while she hasn't stopped moving, she has finally turned to face him. She is backing away from him, slowly.

"Don't ever touch me again." She tells him icily. He can't make any sense of the thing he sees in her eyes.

She is in another place, another time. She doesn't notice the rain all around her. She doesn't notice the way her words caused a flicker of pain in his eyes. Or the way he is holding his hands up as if he is surrendering.

She notices only that he is still inching towards her. Only that she is so tired. That she can't keep on running. That there is nowhere to run. And that the man staring right at her is the exact same man who did unspeakable, horrendous things to her.

She wants him to stop. Wants everything to stop. Wants everything back to normal, as if it never happened. But how can she pretend it never happened when he just won't back off and leave her alone?


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7 **_

For a moment they are suspended there in silent stillness. Every detail of that sickening night is flashing before her mind.

He is just standing there. Just staring. She feels his eyes probing into her soul, and feels violated all over again. But it's a minute before she can bring herself to turn away from him.

And then, she does turn. And she runs for her life.

She is disoriented to time and place. She doesn't notice the torrential rail bombarding her, the thick darkness surrounding her, or the way her feet slip along the muddy ground. She only hears his voice screaming for her. His heavy footsteps descending upon her, closer and closer.

She is angry, but not at him. It isn't his fault. He isn't in control. She is the one to blame. Her anger is directed herself. She let this happen. She came here with him. She should have known better. She deserves every bit of this.

She is afraid, but she doesn't know what she is so afraid of anymore. What could he do to her that he hadn't already done? There is nothing left to lose, nothing left to destroy. But she is still afraid, and she is still running.

She has to get away from him. She can not stand the way he utters her name. She can not tolerate his hands anywhere near her. Most of all, it's his eyes. Not just the way he is penetrating into her most private places with his scrutinising stare, but that flicker of agony she sees, knowing that somehow the tables have turned completely, that somehow she is now the one hurting him.

In amidst the confusion, the anger, the fear- she knows only one clear shining thing. She is the one who has to stop this. She has to get away.

If he asks her later whether she had seen that truck before she stepped out onto the road or after, she won't know how to answer him. One moment there had been terrifying darkness. And then the blinding headlights approaching.

She stands, mesmerised. She isn't able to move. She isn't even certain she wants to move. She closes her eyes. She waits for the inevitable collision. It never comes.

Within seconds his arms are around her, pulling her away, knocking her painfully to the ground. A jolt of pain shudders through her as she strikes her head on a rock.

She doesn't think about the truck, doesn't even hear the deafening sound of the driver blasting the horn as the truck flashes past them, leaving them once again plunged into darkness. She only thinks this- _It's happening all over again. _

For a moment she can't even breathe, he is holding her so tightly. Then he loosens his grip a little, allowing her to shift onto her back. He still has her pinned to the ground, her face only inches from his. She has a pounding headache.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" He demands to know. And gone is her easygoing partner. There is a wild ferocity in his eyes. Something she doesn't think she has ever seen on him, not even that first night he attacked her. It causes her breath to catch in her throat.

She has no voice to answer him even if she could find the words. She is powerless to fight back because he is so much stronger. She spits in his face. Because, as far as she is concerned, this man- this crazy violent man who would throw her to the ground, who is screaming at her, who she is convinced is about to attack her all over again- this is not the Pete she knows. She has to tell herself this in order to survive what she believes is about to happen. _This- isn't- Pete. _

"Tell me why you're so angry with me!" He demands to know. He lets his guard down a little, loosens his grip enough to allow her to elbow him in the ribs. He gasps in pain, but it doesn't stop him. He tightens his grip once again, refusing to give in, to let go.

"Tell me what the hell is going on!" He is demanding, and his every word causes white hot flashes of pain through her skull. He is shaking her now. "What have I done!"

She wants to fade away. She wills herself to drift into unconsciousness, somewhere safe, where she won't remember any of this. But reality has a painful hold of her and isn't about to let her go. She doesn't want to answer him. She must not answer him. But he keeps pushing, he keeps demanding to know.


End file.
